


felix felicis

by ignisdax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignisdax/pseuds/ignisdax
Summary: "liquid Luck doesn’t quite give the person what they want, but what they need."a sixth year war story.cliche but it's worth a shot, yeah?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	felix felicis

**Author's Note:**

> > this is just something that my friend and I wrote together and decided we ought to share it to the world. i hope you enjoy! <

**_  
DRACO:_ **   
  
Everything seems heavier than it has to be. Academics had no value to him anymore. What was the use of them if he'd be dead by the end of next year? Sleep did not matter. Eating did not matter. What mattered was the glorious mission and how he had been so honoured to have been the one to be gifted it. He knew it wasn't honour. It was sheer punishment for his father's actions. That didn't stop his Aunt from constantly speaking of how lucky he must feel.

Describing the effects of Liquid Luck would be difficult if he was asked to. It didn't remove all sense of obligation from your shoulders as he assumed it might. It didn't provide a clear head but only seemed to increase the pressure to make something go in his favour. What it did provide however was the ultimate ease of succeeding at anything he seemed to persist in. Sneaking the hallways was not considered sneaking when he so easily avoided each and every student walking the halls.  
  
It wasn't as if he was invisible but each circumstance fell in such a way that they would never see or hear him. His task against Dumbledore would prove exceedingly easy if this is how the night would continue to go. And yet every few steps he stumbled. Not enough to be noticeable but enough for him to feel the weakness building in his stomach. Succeed. It had been a mantra for him since his father had been thrown away into Azkaban. Since his Mother had been there to watch the burden of the Malfoy name being weighed upon his shoulders.   
  
The bags under his eyes were heavy and yet it would all be over if he merely succeeded. It would have been so easy to get inside the Headmaster's office. He has a good idea that the password is Treacle Tart for some reason. He's just about to utter the words when he hears footsteps taken down the hallway. 

* * *

**  
**_**HERMIONE:** _   
  
_He looks a bit pale, doesn't he? Draco. Almost ill._   
  
Of course, Harry Potter held little interest in her concern. He waved it off. Unless it pertained to Draco's ever-growing list of incriminating actions, he was hardly interested. So, Hermione's worry had been left to fester on its own, stifled by classes and homework, but never truly forgotten. Strange, how people only ever seemed to hear what they wished to.   
  
Now, as the dead of night approached, she thought more about the exchange. Traversing the hallways as a Prefect, ensuring that everyone was tucked tightly into their beds, it was difficult not to let her mind wander down the beaten path. She fingered the hilt of her wand, tucked into her pocket, laid to rest. All the while, she considered the very path her best friend trailed along, and the path on which she found herself astray.   
  
Love had never been a problem for her, because she never wanted it. Now, it was one thing eating at the base of her brain. It was quivering at the thought of Harry Potter doing something terribly reckless, and it made her heart crack at the thought of Ronald wrapping his lean arms around another girl.   
  
The thoughts were immediately washed from her mind as she picked up on a small scuffle around the corner up ahead, en route to Dumbledore's office. Curiously, she careened her head forward, stilling momentarily in her tracks. When she heard it again, she stepped onward, closing in. The familiar head of platinum blonde hair erupted boldly in her view, and Hermione suddenly found her curiosity morphing into mild, uncomfortable awareness. But she had come too far to back down, and the boy almost looked as though he were swaying on the spot.   
  
Had Draco Malfoy really let himself fall so far?   
  
_"Malfoy?"_

* * *

**  
_DRACO:_ **   
  
Felix Felicis Symptoms include: Giddiness. Overconfidence. Recklessness.   
  
As soon as his name is spoken by her lips he wants to strangle her. Perhaps the potion was wearing off. There was no other way that he would have ran into her of all people if his luck was at his high point. So he took it as a sign the potion was wearing off. Fucking brilliant. A defective potion that only lasted half the time it was supposed to last.   
  
He steps away from the Headmaster's door and it's only then that he realizes just how unsteady he is. He wants to vomit with how easily the opportunity to fulfill his mission had been ripped away from him all due to her. It always seemed to be her that wouldn't allow him a moment of fucking rest or silence or anything.   
  
She had always been ahead of him in classes which made hell for him at home. Always had her nose in his business down to the very day she punched him clear in the face and broke his nose (from which he still had a sliver of a scar from.) And now this.   
  
"What the fuck do you want?" He bloody hated her now. In the moment that's the only emotion he could feel for her. He catches his hand on the stone wall behind him because his step forward only proves to make his head spin. Maybe the want to vomit had more to do with lack of sleep. It didn't matter. He hadn't eaten anything in so long that the only thing that would happen would be dry heaving. 

* * *

  
_**HERMIONE:** _   
  
Still. She found herself still. It was in moments like this where she realized how low Draco Malfoy had dropped. His family had been placed in societal shambles. His father thrown in jail, his family suspect, and the commingling shadow of Harry Potter looming over his shoulders.   
  
It was here where she saw his shoulders slump; where she saw the color drain from his face; where she heard the weakness in his voice as he tried to hiss her away from him. "I'm on patrol, actually, and -- Malfoy!" She swept forth when she saw him lean heavy into the wall, looking like he was going to drop right where he stood.   
  
She thought better of it when she marked the ten-foot barrier, knowing somewhere, deep down, that he would accept no hand of hers. Even from here, the boy looked like death. His fingers were skeletal, and his skin was much paler than she remembered.   
  
She knew these signs; signs of starvation. She even recalled a time where she had taken on too much work in third year and hardly managed to eat. Even Harry had expressed concern for her.   
  
"Malfoy... have you eaten at all?" She asked, blatantly ignoring his snappishness. 

* * *

**  
_DRACO:_ **   
  
_Have you eaten at all?  
  
What is he supposed to say?   
  
No. I haven't. I can't seem to eat when all I can think about is murdering Albus Dumbledore.   
  
No. I haven't gotten around to it while being the social outcast of the wizarding world.   
  
_ _No. I'm starving myself so if I drop dead at least it isn't my fault and I can wriggle my way out of the shame my father has put on me._   
  
"Fuck off." Is the closest thing he can manage.   
  
His stomach churns with a need for substance. For anything at all. Why was she the only one to notice the way he had been struggling since returning? Why didn't anyone he wanted to help him, actually help? She was standing there in all her righteousness and for a moment he wondered what she would look like on the other side of a battlefield. If she would express even the slightest bit of concern if she saw him there. Or if she'd just kill him without thought just as the others might do.   
  
He didn't care. This was too much thinking and not enough bodily substance to back up such complex thoughts. His uniform is baggy. His skin is even moreso.   
  
"I don't need your Gryffindor spirit. " What he needed to do was sit. Just sit down. His back is pressed to the wall as he slides down into a sitting position. It takes too much effort to stand for so long. 

* * *

  
_**HERMIONE:** _   
  
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.   
  
Her nose crinkled at the backlash, but that didn't stop her worry. Her hands were habitually held out before her, and were slowly falling back to her sides as she watched him slip to the floor, utterly defeated. Because of her Prefect duties, she couldn't leave him. Morally speaking, she wasn't the type of person to turn her back on someone who could barely stand on their own.   
  
The name Draco Malfoy suddenly held the littlest amount of terror, and she found herself taking steps forward, closing the distance between herself and the fallen. Yet, somehow, even in his weakened state, she still felt very small. Each step closer eased another consideration into her mind. What would she do when she got there? Would she reach for him, offer him her hand? Would she ease his spirits and sit down with him? Would she change her mind and simply run in the other direction before she dug this hole deeper? She opted for the primary.   
  
When she reached her destination, she looked down at him, tilting her head as she noted the way his robes almost fell off of him entirely. Eventually, her head righted, and she met his eyes with a soft, yet confident resolve.   
  
"No."   
  
So, Hermione Granger sank down, falling gently on her rear to cold stone. She crossed her legs and let her elbows hang on her thighs, which were denim-clad. She had opted out of the uniform tonight, though she still donned her Prefects badge. Now, she was staring him down with a softened gaze, oddly docile. "How long has it been since you ate last?" 

* * *

  
_**DRACO:** _   
  
**_No._ **   
  
He had heard the word so little in his life that it felt practically jarring. It was always _Yes, Draco._ or _Of course, sir._ His entire childhood had been pampered and upper class and the word no just did not exist for the eldest heir of a pureblooded family name. But she wouldn't know that would she? She hadn't grown the same way he had. She had no idea that no was not an option. Was it her kind heart that prompted her forward? Or his utter lack of luck?   
  
He wanted to move away from her almost immediately but felt the strength to do so completely leave his body at first attempt. He felt like a fox caught in a trap. Hissing and clapping it's teeth together but utterly helpless to do anything about it's current position. He did hate her. He did. He's trying to convince himself of that fact when she speaks next.   
  
It wasn't any of her business. But his mouth opens to answer as if it is not controlled by him. "Two days ago." It had been a sandwich that Pansy practically forced down his throat if only to give him some sort of substance. She noticed his decline although her noticing was covered in doe eyes and fluttering eyelashes. Can't marry the Malfoy heir if he's dead, can you?   
  
"Why the fuck does it matter to you?" 

* * *

**  
_HERMIONE:_ **   
  
Of course, the question at the forefront of her mind was: why haven't you been eating? Many dreams, all useless.   
  
She had gotten him to confess how long he had gone without, and that was enough. So, she remained directly where she was. Knees to elbows, heart to sleeve, inching down the unfamiliar rabbit hole. Hermione's lips thinned when he snapped once again, finding little reprieve. He could talk a big game all he wanted, but the truth was simple: he could barely stand, and he needed help. So, help he would get, whether he wanted it or not. She ignored the snarky question, and simply pushed onward. "You know, if you're trying to kill yourself, there are simpler and less inconvenient methods," Hermione pointed out, giving him a semi-sympathetic look, partially injected with sarcasm. "Throwing yourself out of one of these windows, for example. We're high enough. The impact would kill you instantly."   
  
She glanced over her shoulder, eyeing the windows, then turned back to him. "But this?" She motioned to him for emphasis. "This isn't the look of someone who wants to take their own life." _This is the look of someone who wants help and is too proud to ask for it._ "I don't know why you're so keen on making yourself go without, and I won't ask. I won't get an answer from you. I know that. I'm not going to waste my time." She stared him down for a long moment, still soft in gaze but firm in resolve. "I will, however, offer you two choices. First: you can come with me and get something to eat, and we can forget this whole thing happened. Or second: I can escort you back to your dorm, and then shove you in detention for a month."   
  
She paused, then leaned in. "I'm truly hoping you'll take the first option. Much less paperwork for both of us." 

* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **   
  
Suicide is not an option for him.   
  
He knows this in the long run. If he could have just been hit by a runaway train or perhaps beat to death by an ogre? It would have been ideal. But suicide would bring punishment on the one person left that he truly did feel the urge to protect. His mother was a strong woman but the Dark Lord was stronger. He had seen what happened to the wives or mothers of Death Eaters who did not adhere to their standards. They were used in ways that he didn't even want to think of at the moment.   
Vile bitch.   
  
It's the first thing that comes to mind when she begins to speak again. Of course, it's followed by many other curses and disgusting internal grumblings but they are drowned out by the way his physical body reacts. It has a mind of its own. Like a bird trapped in a cage and then prompted with the possibility of escape.   
  
_Yes. Please. Food._   
  
The option of substance by her hand or detention? It was the illusion of choice that truly meant you had no choice at all. He had no time to spend a month in detention. His time was slowly running out and it had to be all focused on the greater mission.   
  
No. He could not refuse her no matter how much he wanted to. He might have needed help standing up but he didn't ask. He dragged himself upwards and absolutely glared at her as if she was the cause of his weakness. "I don't have time to sit and gossip with you over tea cakes. Let's go. For someone so precise in everything in life, you'd think that being a bit faster wouldn't do you any fucking harm." His gesture is quick and impatient. 

* * *

_  
_ **_HERMIONE:_ **   
  
Her body tensed slightly, but she rose up with him, placing a hand on her wand just to ensure that it was still intact from the awkward angle she had been sitting in. When she made it to her feet, she watched him struggle just to keep himself upright. He seemed to be putting all of his energy into his scowl, which shouldn't have come as a surprise. She scoffed nonetheless, and her expression adopted far more attitude than what she had before. "That's rich, coming from the one who can barely walk without clinging to the wall for support." She quipped, cocking her head to the side for emphasis.   
  
She walked ahead a few paces, testing the speed. She was uncertain if he could maintain her steps, but she would match him eventually. The walk was entirely and awkwardly silent, with Hermione stalling occasionally when Draco seemed to swoon. When he seemed alright, she continued on, leading him deeper into the castle. Hopefully, she could keep it casual, but the place she was taking him was -- for lack of a better word -- private.   
  
Deep in the kitchens dwelled an untouched haven that Hermione had created long ago, which served its purpose more than once. A heavenly nook tucked away from the chaos -- a place that was strictly her own.   
  
Even Dobby had taken the liberty of prettying the place up and keeping it clean for her. He even added a reading nook for posterity. She spent most of her time studying there. The room was dimly lit, and grew brighter as she entered. A small table sat next to a lovely, large window, which caught the rays of the morning beautifully, but not blindingly. The chairs were comfortable and Hermione motioned for Draco to sit. There was a small kitchenette that she excused herself to, where she put on a kettle of water to prepare some tea. In the meantime, she busied herself around the nook, getting some simpler food prepared.   
  
The rest was silence. 

* * *

  
_**DRACO:** _   
  
Perhaps he should feel lucky that the potion wore off while she was here instead of it wearing off while he was in Dumbledore's office. That could have ended in a way that he didn't even want to think about. Perhaps he could get his godfather to brew another one and correctly this time. The man would surely give him a perfect potion. It didn't matter now. He was dragging himself along the wall at a casual pace. Sometimes he stopped for a moment and glared at her as if daring her to say something about it. But she didn't. She stopped when he stopped and kept the same uneven and agonizingly slow pace that he had become trapped into using.

It was obvious that whatever place she had taken him to was special to her. It was slightly decorated and warm and private. Away from wandering eyes and curious students.   
  
Suppose that's what you got when you were sickeningly nice to house-elves. He practically fell into his seat, hands resting on the table to steady himself. He would die without substance eventually and he couldn't understand why she wanted to halt that process. It wasn't her kind heart. He had seen her be unkind and it was quite.. . . Terrifying? He would never admit to being scared of her when she punched him, but he did think perhaps her rage was a karmic debt for the years of cruel bullying.   
  
So it wasn't the overwhelming kindness; she was no Hufflepuff. She reminds him of childhood. The banter and the rivalry. She reminds him of what was and in some sick way it brings him comfort. "Four sugars. No cream." He orders simply, eyes glancing away from her. 

* * *

  
_**HERMIONE:** _   
  
Shuffling around the small kitchenette, Hermione kept her head down. Though a small smirk ticked at the corner of her mouth when he mentioned what he took in his tea. Strange, how this night seemed to bring out the best of the worst in both of them. Strange, how she commented on Malfoy's sickly appearance that very afternoon and later discovered that she had been right all along. Strange, how he was lingering just outside of Dumbledore's office when she found him.   
  
She chose not to dwell too heavily on the curiosities circling her mind. Right now, she needed to focus on getting him back to health. The last thing she needed was to ask the wrong thing and have him stumbling through the doors, sure to wind up in the hospital wing by morning. No. Something like this needed to be handled delicately, and with silence. So, she forced her vocal cords to remain stagnant, though they were screaming from lack of use.   
  
She was a girl who thrived on asking questions; on knowing what was happening around her. The forces in this universe were truly testing her will. Eventually, she ferried over a cup of tea and a soft biscuit for him, setting it down on the humble table before the blonde boy. Hermione said nothing still, merely turning back to the kitchenette to begin cooking an actual meal. It wouldn't be anything special since she never put much thought into learning the trade. The one thing she knew how to make without fail was breakfast. Omelet, toast, home fries, and bacon. It would have to suffice for now.

* * *

  
 **_DRACO:_ **   
  
He could feel the curiosity coming off of her in waves. Gryffindors were so very bad at keeping their emotions hidden. They are explosive and loud and reckless in every movement. They thought their way was the only right way and they would damn anyone who thought differently. It was easy to hate them when they acted that way.   
  
She was slightly harder to pin down.   
  
Her friends were surely models of their house and yet she was different. It almost makes him wonder if she had been more inclined to another house besides Gryffindor. If not for her blood he might have even pegged her for a Slytherin in some ways. He is delirious surely if he's making comparisons to her and his esteemed house. "Why don't you bloody ask already?"   
  
She was standing there and shaking like one of the fucking tesla coils that he had read about when he was younger. Filled with electricity and just humming in excitement. 

* * *

  
**_HERMIONE:_ **   
  
At the snap in his tone, Hermione could not stop the immediate scoff that echoed in her throat and burst through her lips. She kept her spine to him but peered momentarily over her shoulder with dry humor glimmering in her large brown eyes.   
  
"If I asked, would you even give me a proper answer?" She shot back. One of her eyebrows -- which were now a bit more slender, due to proper maintenance -- hiked up in mild temptation. Even though she was skeptical, she still had those questions whirring in her brain, rushing a mile a minute.   
  
Eventually, she turned back to her task, peeling the last potato and waving her wand to get the peeled husks into the rubbish bin. As the seconds ticked by, she chopped the vegetables and tried to bide her time. The mere thought of having a remotely casual conversation with Draco Malfoy seemed so far fetched. Yet, that aside, she could not deny herself the temptation of letting at least one question slip from her tongue. She still faced away from him. Perhaps he would find his answers easier if she was not staring him down.   
  
"Why haven't you been eating?" 

* * *

  
_**DRACO:** _   
  
She repeated the same question that she had earlier. Most of the answers that came to his head were completely ruled out. She couldn't know what he was planning. She couldn't know the true inner disgust he was beginning to feel for himself over something that he couldn't begin to control.   
  
He needed an answer that was depressing enough to stop her further questions and just true enough where she wouldn't call him out on his obvious lie.   
  
"I haven't felt the want since my father was put into Azkaban."   
  
The words are dripping with cruelty and venom and a sense of well you wanted to know didn't you, bitch? that he can't seem to control. It was as if he was punishing her for asking and prying into something that he considered to be private.   
  
And yet he was here in her private little hideaway. The smell of food was beginning to make him completely dizzy. He hunched over to the sound of rumbling was not so loud as to interrupt her. "Do you have any other pressing questions for me? Or can you merely shut up." 

* * *

  
**_HERMIONE:_ **   
  
She shrugged, still facing away from him as he gave her a semi-honest answer, and then promptly shoved her back out of his proverbial, personal space.   
  
On any other occasion, she would have shot a glare over her shoulder or shot a quip back at him. In truth, he was in such a weakened state, she was having trouble clinging to anything aside from sympathy. This was a boy who had taunted and teased her relentlessly, although she never truly harbored any hatred for him. He had tried on countless occasions to make her life just as miserable as his own.   
  
He was powerful and calculated. Now, it was difficult not to feel some form of empathy for his fallen state. Perhaps that would change once he had some food in his stomach. She put the chopped potatoes into the frying pan and began adding her seasoning.   
  
A few times, the boiling olive oil would spurt up and strike the bare skin of her arm, and she would jerk her arm away and wag off the small sting of it. "Is that why you were hanging outside of Dumbledore's office when I found you?" 

* * *

_  
**DRACO:** _   
  
Fuck. She was smart. So smart that she surpassed even his grades every year.   
  
She made connections and it agitated him to no end. He didn't need her knowing why he was outside of Dumbledore's office. He didn't need the suspicion that could turn into full-blown knowing. He already knew that Potter held that suspicion much higher than anyone else. The connections didn't need to be made.   
  
He looks calm as he speaks, voice level although his internal screaming was beginning to be overbearing. "I was going to ask him for a favour." The lie is thick in his mouth but smooth as butter. He had lied easily before. He was good at it in every sense of the word. "One that I didn't want anyone else to hear." That took away the question of what favour he might have to make up if she asked.   
  
He almost wanted to laugh at the idea of him asking the old man for a favour. "Start at a lower temperature if you don't want the oil to pop." Even being helpful he still sounded as if he was giving out the vilest insults.   
  
He didn't know much about cooking but he remembers watching the nanny frying things on the stove when he was a child. She always raised the fire bit by bit so she wasn't burned. "If you don't want an arm covered in burn blisters, that is. I don't care." 

* * *

_  
**HERMIONE:** _   
  
That didn't click.   
  
He wasn't even willing to ask for help when he could barely walk, let alone stand. What on earth could he have been going to Dumbledore for? If it were to get his father out of Azkaban, surely there were others Draco could have turned to. He also did not have a particularly sterling reputation of getting along with the headmaster.   
  
Of course, he had laid it on thick when he said that it was a personal issue that he didn't want anyone else to hear, so he was essentially trapping her. If she pried further at this point, she would meet nothing but brick.   
  
Bollocks.   
  
She made a face to herself, crinkling her nose as he mentioned something that would actually save her skin. Draco Malfoy being helpful? Now there was something she never thought she would be on the receiving end of. She chanced a small, split-second glance over her shoulder, sizing him up before she turned back to the stove... then reluctantly turned down the heat, only to find that it was hardly giving her a hassle anymore. She continued on with her work.   
  
"I'm surprised you know anything about cooking a meal," she quipped, feeling a bit of her old attitude resurfacing. "Don't you usually have people making your meals for you?" 

* * *

_  
**DRACO:** _   
  
She didn't believe him and she didn't have to. All she had to believe was that he wasn't there to murder the Headmaster. Anything else was quite open to interpretation.   
  
Was he actually having a conversation with her? It was almost jarring in a way. Had he gotten so lonely and isolated that he would jump at the opportunity for conversation from her of all people? He'd punish himself for it later but for now, he convinced himself that conversation was needed. If he didn't keep her mind occupied with that perhaps she might ask more questions that could further fuck him over.   
  
So he spoke to her.   
  
"I had a nanny when I was a child. House-elves are not fit to look after children under a certain age. They might fuck up and kill them accidentally." Or at least that's what he'd been taught. "She cooked often." And he was often enthralled with watching her.   
  
He had always been a difficult child but there had been a sweet spot between seven and eight that he was the model child. He had been curious and gentle and exceedingly kind. That was all morphed and destroyed later on but for that small window? He had truly cared for the woman who came in every morning to wake him up and cook breakfast for him. When he got older she was fired and he'd never seen her again. A bit bittersweet.   
  
"Are you almost done?"  
  


* * *

 ** _HERMIONE:_**  
  
  
Though she attempted to remain indifferent about the things he was saying, she couldn't resist the temptation to bark out a laugh when he mentioned house-elves potentially killing the young wizards under their care. Even her shoulders trembled a bit with small, soft tittles, and for a brief moment, she choked it out, surprised that she even managed to find anything Malfoy said funny.  
  
"Kill them accidentally? That's a bit ridiculous. Has it ever been considered that house-elves have children of their own? How do you think they take care of them?" She couldn't stop the gentle, breathy laughter that bleated between each word. The whole concept was ridiculously bigoted and struck a whole new, thoroughly amusing level of ignorance.  
  
 _Are you almost done?_  
  
Her laughter eventually died, though she never lost the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She glanced over to him briefly, noting that he had not touched the tea and biscuit she placed in front of him before. "Believe it or not, food takes time to cook." She nodded to the cuppa in front of him. "Drink your tea, it's getting cold." Then, she turned back, setting aside the potatoes when they were cooked. She piled them into a large bowl with a cloth to soak up the remnants of oil.  
  
They were mixed and seasoned well with the tiniest hint of nutmeg. "What do you like in your omelet?" She asked, beginning to whisk the eggs in a bowl with a fork. She whisked upwards, which allowed the texture to be as fluffy as possible.  
  


* * *

 _ **DRACO:**_  
  
Her laughter is more unsettling to him than anything else. She had never laughed in his presence due to something he's said and it makes him uncomfortable to say the very least. He'd seen her laugh before. Out of the corner of his eye at something Potter had said or the shaking of her shoulders as she held in laughter at something the Weasley girl had said in her ear. It reminded him of a normal teenage girl instead of the sheer annoying swot that she tended to be.  
  
Then the agitation of her claims settled in. "House elf children are far less important than Wizarding children." He says it so simply. "It's like comparing us to hamster babies or something." There's not an ounce of doubt in his words as if he knows they are of utmost correctness. "We're surely different. We don't need the same things. You can't expect a dog to know how to take care of a human child just because it knows how to take care of its own puppies." She sounded so stupid with her logic. A feat that was quite difficult for her.  
  
He hadn't even realized he didn't touch his tea. Now that she tells him to drink it he feels the urge not to. But his stomach eventually wins out and the warm liquid tastes like heaven on his tongue. The biscuit is eaten in mere seconds and his agitation is back in full force when she asks him about the omelet. Before he realizes what he's doing, he's standing (which is a bit easier now with some sort of food in his stomach) and using his body to move her out of the way.  
  
"You wouldn't do it properly." And takes the bowl from her hands along with the fork. He's made his own food perhaps three times in his entire life but he's watched it happen often enough to know. "Get some shallots and cheddar."  
  
It's an order not really a question.  
  


* * *

  
 ** _HERMIONE:_**  
  
"Not unless you count Nana from Peter Pan, no. And yet they're certainly coherent enough to take care of their sick masters, make food, clean house, and do essentially everything else, but they're still not qualified to tend to an infant?"  
  
It took her a moment to realize that her reference was likely lost on him. Peter Pan was, after all, more renowned in the Muggle world, but she wasn't certain if it was myth or fact in the Magic world. Either way, she stood by her statement, even though her reference was -- according to her -- a joke, and entirely fictional.  
  
She also chose to ignore the countless parallels she drew between Draco and Peter. Two boys who never wanted to grow up. She huffed when she was shoved out of his path. Her bowl was snatched from her hands, and she rolled her eyes at the command, suddenly regretting urging him to drink his tea. Apparently, it gave him just enough energy to be a verbal pain in the arse once more.  
  
Still, she reminded herself several times that him moving around like this was a good thing, and that once this was all over, she could go to sleep without worry and never think of this moment again. This reasoning still wasn't enough to make her budge on command. Instead, she folded her arms and shot his stubbornness right back at him, expecting at least some form of common courtesy. After all, she was not his housekeeper, and she was going out of her way to help him get back to good health.  
  
She was not about to let herself be bossed around by him as well.  
  


* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **   
  


He hadn't a clue what she was talking about when she mentioned Peter Pan. Perhaps something muggle related? He was aware of a few things muggle after all. Great composers being the only muggles he could seem to stomach when he had to.   
  
Mozart was much more than a mere muggle in his eyes.   
  
He's whisking the eggs and still very aware of the fact that she hadn't moved from his side. He doesn't speak to her in the least and decides to draw it out for as long as possible until he needs those ingredients. He merely ignores her and whisks away until it's absolutely needed to speak to her again.   
  
He stops his movements and turns his head to glare at her. Her eyes are dark like the earth and his eyes are bright like storm clouds. It's quite the mixture that makes ebbing crackles of electricity in his sheer annoyance with her.   
  
"I want to eat and leave. The longer you stand there with your arms crossed, the longer I have to stand here whisking fucking eggs. Do you really want my company for that long?"  
  
  


* * *

 ** _HERMIONE:_**  
  
Hermione was oddly patient when it came to things like this. She was accustomed to waiting for Ronald to notice when she was irritated with his lack of manners as well. So, she waited, and when Malfoy finally turned to face her, she appeared completely calm and collected as he snapped in his hungry frustrations, aiming venom her way.  
  
She appeared completely immune, even with the distance closer than usual between them. "I'm not sure if this is how it works in your world, but in my world, it's common courtesy to say _please_ whenever you ask something of someone."  
  
She cocked a denim-clad hip to the side, still with her arms crossed. "It's considered a magic word that will get you pretty much anything you want."  
  
Alright, so that last bit was farfetched and sounded a little cruder than she intended, but Hermione stuck to her point, and never budged an inch. This whole thing would go much smoother if he wasn't barking at her the whole time.

* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **

  
He snorts loudly, eyes turned back to the bowl.  
  
Please.  
  
He had said the world a handful of times and mostly it was directed towards his mother when he was a small child. The very thought of _begging_ her to get him something he wanted? It made a slow pink tinge rise up his neck and rest in his face. It made his skin look more healthy and burned his face like fire. It was a childish _anger_ of not getting what he wanted when he wanted it. Something he hadn't quite grown out of.  
  
"Anything I want?" Maybe he should say _please_ more often when getting Pansy out of her knickers. Although he hadn't really found a lot of want in sex as of lately. The occasional angry shags that was completely void of her pleasure and focused on getting his own aggression out. But nothing he truly enjoyed as much.  
  
" _Please_ drop dead." It would be inconvenient if she did it here. He'd probably be pegged for her murder and then thrown into Azkaban with his father. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Family togetherness and all that.

* * *

  
**_HERMIONE:_ **

  
That got a laugh. The color even returned slightly to his cheeks. A sardonic quip was whipped right back at her, and for a moment, she saw the old Malfoy shimmering through. Chock-full of Muggle-born-hating brimstone and gall. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes, then cast her gaze momentarily down to her frame, as though she were anticipating turning to dust upon his command.  
  
When nothing happened, she brushed her palms down her shirt and hummed to herself. "Suppose it doesn't go to that extent, after all," she said with a tone dripping in rival sarcasm. However, since she had heard the word _please_ , she took what she could get, turning away from him and moving on to raid the pantry.  
  
The shallots came first, and she dropped two onto the counter for inspection, then she went in search of cheese. Once she found it, she set it right next to the former ingredient, taking it upon herself to prep everything in silence. For a moment, she forgot about her curiosity. This place often helped her take on a healthier perspective, and she realized as she shredded the cheddar that she would be getting no more answers from him tonight.  
  
Perhaps she would never get them, and a part of her was alright with that. Despite Harry's constant claims that Draco was some sort of mentally unsound Death Eater, Hermione found no genuine hostility when she was standing next to him, finishing her prep work. Maybe that was attributed to his weakened state.  
  
Either way, she felt just as safe in this room as she did when she was alone, albeit mildly more irritated.

* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **

  
He waited. She also seemed to be waiting. Slowly her eyes dipped down to her own frame and then she hummed to herself in a way that made him loath her even more.  
  
 _Suppose it doesn't go to that extent, after all._ He wanted to strangle her to show her how _exactly_ he could make his wish a reality. But he doesn't and she walks away to leave him whisking the eggs. She was _funny._ That was the feeling that he had been pondering over in his chest.  
  
What was the building that he felt when she said something particular? It was humour. She was _funny_ and he wasn't sure if it was his own exhaustion that caused him to think so or perhaps she had grown a bit in the humour department since childhood. For now, they merely worked independently of one another and it was almost _calming_ in a way. When she wasn't talking she could be like a cat. Not too annoying but at least _there_ for the company.  
  
Thinking of her as a feline was a lot easier than thinking that he was comfortable in the presence of Hermione Granger. "Are you done yet?" Impatience is at the tip of his tongue while the pan is placed easily on top of the fire. "Because the eggs have been burning for two minutes."  
  
 _And I'm just too prideful to tell you that I don't know how to do this.  
_

* * *

_  
**HERMIONE:** _

  
She grew lost in a comfortable silence when she was chopping, peeling, and shredding. Time was best when taken sweetly, as her mother used to say. It was rare when she had moments like this to herself, which was why she indulged so diligently in this little crevice of the castle so often.  
  
Even now, invaded by a spoiled, platinum blonde prat and his bottomless demands, she was content and could let his malice wash off of her with serene ease. At least... she could... until he spoke.  
  
 _"Malfoy!"_  
  
Abruptly, her brown eyes went larger, and she dove for the stove, ripping it off the element. Smoke billowed from the pan in copious amounts, and she caught some in her lungs, making her cough. Immediately, she dashed to the window by the table, working the gears until it cracked open. She waved the smoke towards it with a towel she had placed on her shoulder. After a moment, she turned to him with a deeply unimpressed look on her face, folding her arms over her chest.  
  
"What was that about _me_ ruining it?" She quipped, making her way back to the stove. She took up the spatula and the pan, sliding the burnt egg into the rubbish bin. Once she had washed the pan, she took out three more eggs and waved him away wordlessly. _She_ would handle the makings. _He_ could worry about consumption.

* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **

  
"You had the _fire too high._ "  
  
The lie was weak and he knew it. It was just that he wasn't quite sure how to _cook_ the eggs. Just mix them. He had always been good at mixing them when the nanny had let him do it.  
  
The cooking seemed a bit more difficult. He wanted to just use _magic_ to cook even if it wasn't always so practical. Mostly just lazy. So he did move when she waved him away, eyes narrowed onto her. If only looks could kill. So he sits back down at the table and rests his chin in his hands letting out the universal sound of _boredom._  
  
That deep sigh that did nothing but alert everyone of your tiredness. His eyes glance around the area and he finds nothing to entertain him so instead, he merely watches her. She'd make some whipped bloke a decent housewife one day.  
  
Although he did have a hard time imagining her in such a submissive role. If she had been _pureblooded_ she would make a decent enough match for any pureblooded man. She was smart enough. Witty. Sharp. Calculated. She could cook (although that wasn't really needed if you were marrying rich.) What a shame for _her_ that she was born wrong. _Not a choice_ he realizes. _Merely born different._ It was a dangerous thing to be thinking so he decided to be cruel instead.  
  
"Stay here often? Your friends don't like you enough to put up with you constantly?"

* * *

  
**_HERMIONE:_ **

  
Hermione was back to whisking. Butter was coated in the pan, and once she was finished prepping the eggs, she poured them in slowly and smoothly. Thus began the proper method of making an omelet. Inwardly, she was cursing herself for allowing the distraction of her own mind to get the better of her. She was usually so attentive when it came to cooking. Hell, she even enjoyed the record player hidden in the corner, which was bewitched to play whatever song she wished.  
  
Often times, her favorite cooking music belonged to the Beatles, but she delved into more modern pieces as well, and branched well into the classical genre, which always helped her study. She grimaced at the question, huffing as she poured the shallots and cheese onto one side of the flat, cooked egg.  
  
"I study late. Sometimes I lose track of the time, and I miss supper. If I have to do Prefect rounds, sometimes I don't even have a chance to eat until around this time, anyway. So instead, I just come here. It's nicer..." she trailed, rethinking her words, "quieter."  
  
Though being alone might have sounded terribly _sad_ , Hermione enjoyed it. The silence allowed her time to reflect, to think. In the Great Hall, though she loved conversation with her friends, there was too much noise. Too much idle chatter. She enjoyed the times where some parts of the castle were so quiet, she could actually hear herself breathe.  
  
It was comforting, this solitude. Soon enough, when everything was cooked, she slid a full plate onto the table in front of him, along with a fork and a napkin. Wordlessly, she refused to sit down just yet.  
  
She still had her own tea to make, and a mess to clean up. She took to washing the dishes in the small sink first.

* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **

  
He understood what she meant. The tower gave him that sort of feeling. The stairs were a pain but by the time he got to the top, he forgot about the pain and only focused on the view.  
  
It was silent and yet still somehow alive. Like the wind spoke to him and helped remove any of the negative emotions he might have if only for a little while. He understood the need to be away from others or the desperation for a bit of reprieve.  
  
The plate is in front of him and he wants to immediately begin the task of eating the delicious food in front of him. But he finds himself waiting. It's not a conscious thing given that he would have eaten immediately if he was in his right state of mind.  
  
He had been raised to wait for everyone to be seated before eating and that teaching was followed without him even noticing. Like a dog not yet permitted to eat. So his foot tapped soundlessly against the floor and he watched her wash the dishes, jaw tightening and then relaxing with each passing second. If only she would hurry the fuck up.

* * *

  
**_HERMIONE:_ **

  
She waited for the kettle to boil while she finished with the dishes, still with her back turned to him. At one point, she had even ferried over a glass of pumpkin juice for him.  
  
Of course, she was unaware of his state, and eventually fixed herself a tea. It took her only a moment longer to work out a few biscuits from the cupboard and put them on a plate. Once she was prepared, she turned back to the table and frowned deeply when she saw that he hadn't touched a single portion in front of him, and seemed to be looking at her like it was her fault.  
  
"What?" She asked, ferrying her things over and setting them down. She remained standing, just in case he needed something else. "Something wrong with it?"

* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **

  
He waited. And waited and waited and he desperately wanted to drink down the pumpkin juice and yet she was _still_ not sitting down. Did she not understand the politeness that came with it? It was mere dinner manners. Of course not. She was a mudblood. What would _she_ know about proper dinner manners?  
  
"Of course not. I'm starving. Sit the fuck down." His agitation was growing with every second that she remained standing beside her seat. It was only when she sat down that he took up his fork and began to hungrily eat his food. It wasn't barbaric and untasteful but it was a deal more ravenous than Draco Malfoy typically ate his meals.  
  
Hunger tended to do that to people after all.  
  
It was delicious and there were times during this eating that he wanted _very_ badly to thank her. But he didn't. His pride kept those words too close to his chest. It was only when he was decently full that he began to slow down a bit, drinking his pumpkin juice and sighing slightly at the pleasure of a full stomach.

* * *

  
**_HERMIONE:_ **

  
"Oh." Hermione tilted her head, easing into her seat, only to see the great Draco Malfoy dig into his meal like a truly starved man. She stifled a small laugh behind the sipping of her tea at the sight, registering the manners he maintained, even in a dinner that was hardly formal. Her family was not barbaric, by any means, but Hermione had figured that because she was not indulging in a meal, he would not need to wait for her to sit down to partake in his own.  
  
Surprising manners, considering they were coming from a young man who could hardly say "please" without following up with "drop dead" afterward.  
  
Still, she kept her entertained gaze averted. Malfoy was clearly hungry enough to eat something _she_ placed in front of him. Having her watch him eat on top of that? Probably not the greatest feeling in the world. So, she waved her wand, putting on a gentle, quiet tune from the record player in the far corner. As she lifted the rim of her tea to her lips, she mouthed a few words and tapped her foot noiselessly with the rhythm of the song.  
  
 _Blackbird singin' in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise..._  
  


* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **

  
She hid her laughter with her tea cup and he was glad of it. He didn't know what he'd do if she so openly laughed _again._ It was almost enough to unarm him the first time. Doing it again? He might just die from the shock of it.  
  
The potatoes were amazing along with the eggs and bacon. Everything was just amazing. Surely he hadn't eaten something so good in his entire life. Maybe it was just that he had been on the verge of complete starvation.  
  
The music that begun to play throughout the room made him slightly perplexed. He'd never heard it before and he wondered if it was some new wizarding band that he had absolutely no time to listen to. Knowing _her_ though it was probably something utterly muggle. Just to rub it in his face or something.  
  
He ate slower and slower until there was only a piece of potato left on his plate and all he kept doing was batting it around with his fork. He was so tired and sleep was something that called out to him with desperation and yet he was not ready to leave.

* * *

  
**_HERMIONE:_ **

  
There was a timid peacefulness that crept into the room with them, turning the place into a sanctuary. Of course, it was shocking to believe that any amount of true peace could be had with someone like Malfoy in the room, but Hermione found it to be equally as pleasant as when she was alone. Perhaps more so. She had never cooked for anyone except her parents before, and it was nice to know that her skills were appreciated outside of her family circle.  
  
She snuck a glance in his direction, noting the last piece of food on his plate, which was being tampered with. Perhaps he was full, but the idea made Hermione even more quizzical.  
  
 _I want to eat and leave.  
  
_ If he was full, wouldn't he have left by now?  
  
It took a moment for the realization to dawn on her that, perhaps, Malfoy was actually enjoying the stress-free atmosphere of this little haven, just like she was. So, wordlessly, she pushed herself up from the table and got to work on another, smaller project.  
  
The music changed over. "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac. Ever the openhearted Nicks fan, Hermione hummed along with the tune, occasionally singing a few soft words as she dallied and put some berries into a bowl. She mixed it up with yogurt and crushed walnuts, then stirred the concoction, making sure the consistency was just right.  
  
"Here," she said, sliding the bowl of fruit next to his plate. "Something like this usually lets you go to sleep without feeling too heavy." With that, she went back to her tea.

* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **

  
He didn't mind her singing. It was gentle and a bit of a shock to him that such a gentle sound could come from someone he considered to be increasingly _rough_ and agitating.  
  
He didn't mind the music. He should be annoyed by it in the very least, but he wasn't. He liked the soft melodic tunes that swept through the walls. It brought a calm that the warm buzz of isolation seemed to bring. The dungeons never gave off this atmosphere. It was dark and damp and always so cold and regal. It didn't give him the softness that this room seemed to wrap around his person. It reminds him of the warm blankets that his mother used to drape over him when he fell asleep in the parlor.  
  
She pushed herself up and out of the seat and he felt almost relieved that he could stop eating. It wouldn't be polite after all. That's the only reason why he was still here. Because she was keeping him here. When she finally returns she has a bowl of yogurt and he wrinkles his nose for a moment. He hadn't eaten yogurt very often and yet he finds himself leaning forward and beginning to slowly spoon it into his mouth.  
  
It tastes delicious. Not too sweet or tangy or anything like he thought it might be. He eats it almost as quickly as he had eaten the food before if not a bit slower just to prolong his time in this haven.  
  
"It's decent."

* * *

  
**_HERMIONE:_ **

  
He seemed to enjoy the fruit-and-yogurt-and-walnut concoction. She could tell from the corner of her eye. Already, his skin was taking on a more natural pallor, which comforted her. His energy was likely returning, which meant that he would inevitably slip right back into his old, cruel demeanor.  
  
This was but a temporary split in time and space, where something more vulnerable in him could be at rest, and eventually, he would move on from it.  
  
 _It's decent._  
  
She let out a small laugh, playing with the handle of her tea as "Albatross" played casually in the background.  
  
"It's one of my favorite things to eat after a meal," she admitted without looking at him. "And it's one of the easiest and quickest things to make."

* * *

  
**_DRACO:_ **

  
He grunts slightly. They had shared something in this haven that he hadn't thought he would share with someone like her. Something that he can't quite pinpoint or understand. He'd think it over on his own later. His jaw twitches when she laughs and almost immediately his senses begin to flood him again. He had lost his opportunity to kill the Headmaster tonight. It slipped from his grasp as soon as she appeared and he should loathe her for it.  
  
The problem though? . . . He didn't.  
  
When he rises from his seat there is a hesitation in his movements as if he wants to say something. Thank you? No. She had only fed him to feed her own agenda. To be a hero as all Gryffindors seemingly enjoyed being. It had nothing to do with him.   
  
His jaw clenches and he looks at her for a moment. Perhaps too long. Perhaps not long enough.  
  
 ** _"Goodnight."_**  
  
And yet when he leaves that small little haven he knows somewhere in the very back of his mind that he would return there again.  
  
Even worse? He looked forward to it.  
  
  



End file.
